WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel

by STEEPLES, JILL

  In the bedroom I threw on some clothes, the first ones that came to hand. A pair of black bootleg trousers and a red, open-necked blouse. There wasn’t any point in spending too long obsessing over what to wear. Next to Pandora I was going to look like a refugee from a fashion famine whatever I put together. I mean, how can you compete with a supermodel?

  By now the loud voices had quietened and I couldn’t hear any plate smashing going on either. Maybe they were at the drawn-out silence stage, I mused. Grabbing my handbag and steeling myself for another run-in with Pandora I went downstairs to face whatever the day was about to sling at me.

  But it wasn’t Pandora I needed to be wary of, but Rocco who, it seemed, was right in the middle of a hissy fit.

  He was striding up and down the kitchen, steam fizzing from his ears.

  ‘BETH! What the hell are this lot doing here?’ He stabbed his finger at a bemused-looking group of production crew. Through the window I could see the equipment vans cluttering up the drive. ‘Get them out of here! They should be down at the wharf. Do I have to do everything around here? Jesus Christ! It was in those notes I gave you. First two days of shooting. On the boat. At Briar’s Wharf. What’s so fucking difficult about that?’

  I flinched inwardly.

  I had the schedule in my hand. I’d checked it yesterday and again this morning. It clearly stated that we would be meeting at the house. Did he really think I was so gormless I wouldn’t check something that fundamental? Still, going by his flaring nostrils and flailing arms, I sussed this probably wasn’t the best time to make an argument out of it.

  ‘Right,’ I said, calmly. ‘Well, it’s not a problem.’ I looked at my watch. ’We’ve still got plenty of time before we’re due to start. I’ll just send everyone down to the boat now. I’ve got some maps here.’ I knew I was sounding like a prim headmistress, but I was desperate to regain some kind of control. I dug out some sheets of paper from my folder. ‘I’ll just go and get it sorted.’

  ‘Hopeless,’ sighed Pandora, in a show of sisterly support. She ran crimson fingernails through her long hair. ‘Like all the others, Rocco. I don’t know why you bother.’ She sighed dramatically, wrapping her long arms round Rocco’s shoulders. ‘How long will this one last? The day? Or maybe even a week?’

  He pulled himself clear of her embrace.

  ‘Leave it, Pandora.’ He glared daggers at her. ‘Just make sure you take these with you.’ Rocco turned to me, handing over the basket full of produce we’d picked earlier that morning. ‘I’ll see you there in about half an hour.’

  I turned away, not daring to look at Pandora. How dare she, I thought fuming. Who did she think she was, passing comment when I wasn’t even working for her? She was just his girlfriend, for God’s sake. Okay, so a drop-dead gorgeous, clothes-horse kind of a girlfriend, but that didn’t give her the right to slag me off in front of him like that. Making me look a complete idiot.

  And what was that about all the others? How many PAs had Rocco been through exactly?

  Well, if they were thinking of me in those kinds of terms then they could stick their poxy job where the sun doesn’t shine. I could do without the aggravation. It wasn’t as if I was that desperate for money. I could always go home.

  ‘Look, Rocco, I really think . . .’ I started.

  ‘Not now,’ he said, holding up a hand, his dark eyes defying me to continue. ‘Just go, would you please.’ His voice had softened. ‘I’ll see you there.’ He took Pandora by the arm and marched her into the living room.

  I was hit by an awful sinking sensation. I could have made the grand gesture and waltzed out the door, but where the hell would I have gone? The family house where I’d grown up had been deserted by my parents and was being let out to a nice family from the Netherlands. And my little flat in London would be depressingly lonely without Martin’s presence.

  Thinking about it, I had no one and nowhere to go back to. I could have cried. Since the break-up, I’d been struck by these random moments of empty despair, realising I was on my lonesome with no one who really cared what I was doing. Okay, so Lexi was around, but it wasn’t the same as having someone special in your life whose happiness depended only on making you happy.

  I was having one of those moments now, only it was interrupted by my vague awareness of a damp patch creeping across my thigh. I looked down to see Millie hugging my side. She’d been skulking around the edge of the kitchen ever since we got back, giving Pandora a very wide berth. I could completely understand her wariness.

  ‘Oh Millie, what a mess!’ She gave me an encouraging nudge with her nose.

  To hell with it. No, I wouldn’t go home, I thought, bending down to ruffle Millie’s coat. I hadn’t walked away from an assignment yet and I wasn’t about to now just because Pandora had taken a dislike to me. Besides I had something to prove to Rocco. I was a bloody good PA, even if he had his doubts about my capabilities. He might not have realised it, but I was just what he needed right now. And what I needed was a change of scene and a really good friend. Okay, so perhaps she wouldn’t have been my first choice, but in Millie, I knew I’d found the perfect one.

  Chapter 6

  According to the map, Rocco’s boat was moored on the Grand Union Canal at a point nestled between two small hamlets a short drive from the house. The nearest parking was in the yard behind the local pub, The Anchor, a picturesque old thatched building that was prettily festooned with hanging baskets. It really was picture postcard territory. Outside the pub there were plenty of benches overlooking the canal, a kiddies’ playground and a small enclosed garden. I could imagine it heaving with people in the summer, but now it was deserted, the last of the morning mist casting a ghostly haze over the ground. Parking up, we unloaded all the gear from the car and vans. We trudged along the towpath, me with a laptop, the production schedules and various other bits of paper I’d acquired on the way, a basketful of mushrooms and Millie who, with Rocco’s permission, had hitched a ride. The crew stumbled behind, lugging along their various bits of cumbersome equipment.

  I’d been pleased to get away from the house and Pandora whose very presence had made me feel like the fat, unpopular girl at school who never got picked for the netball team. On the way out, feeling suitably bruised, I’d run into Sylvia who was just arriving for work.

  ‘So, you’ve had the pleasure of meeting PP, have you?’ she whispered, her eyes shining mischievously.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, lovey,’ she chuckled, ‘and don’t take it personally. PP is more regal than the queen herself.’ She popped her coat on a hook. ‘Just ignore her, that’s what I do. I hope I’ll see you later. I did enjoy our little chat yesterday. Perhaps we’ll have another.’

  Back on the towpath, I smiled at Sylvia’s friendly words. Coming after the spat with Pandora they’d been especially welcome and reminded me that after all, there could be worse places I might be spending my working day. And with any luck, Pandora wouldn’t be hanging around for too long. Surely she had a catwalk somewhere to saunter down, some camera to seduce.

  Pulling my cream puffa jacket tightly around my chest to ward off the sharp nip in the air, I realised that the clothes I’d brought with me were woefully inadequate for all this outdoorsy stuff. Most of my clothes had been bought with the air-conditioned offices of London in mind, or the throbbing nightclub scene. Certainly the black patent strappy shoes I had on today were not the best choice for traipsing along a muddy canal bank.

  We passed a couple of boats moored on the side of the canal and I admired their brightly decorated shabby chic. The area was a hotbed of activity with washing blowing in the breeze, people inside the cabins filling kettles, dogs running along the decks. What surprised me was how friendly everyone was. Without exception, they all gave a warm welcome, a smile or a cheery wave as we passed. In London, you didn’t dare make eye contact with anyone for fear of causing offence.

  Then at last we came upon t
he most magnificent boat I’d ever seen. Rocco’s, I thought smiling, without a doubt. It was the largest and shiniest and its name, elaborately painted on the side in a scripted design, made me smile. The Painted Lady. I guessed he’d come across a few of those in his time.

  She suited her name though. The sleek red and blue lines of the hull gave her a classy elegance set off nicely by the small brass ventilation domes on the roof. Dotted in-between these were verdigris planters overflowing with a shock of pansies. She was a beautiful sight. Millie jumped aboard and the rest of us, me and the crew members, followed in her wake.

  ‘My God,’ said Dave the cameraman, climbing down into the cabin, ‘this has got a higher spec. than some five star hotels I’ve stayed in.’

  I giggled. It was luxurious, all white oak panelling, wooden floors and gleaming brass, and surprisingly large. There was a well-equipped kitchen, a saloon area, two berths and a large bathroom. We dumped our gear in the kitchen and then Paul, the director, and I ran through the running order for the day.

  When Rocco arrived some time later, I was relieved to see he didn’t have Pandora with him.

  ‘What do you think, then?’ he asked, as he greeted Millie and shook hands with Paul and Dave, his mood considerably lighter than it had been back at the house.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I said, truthfully, ‘and so peaceful.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He let out an audible sigh of relief. ‘That’s why I love it so much. If I want to, I can get away from everyone here. It’s a real retreat. There’s no phone, emails or faxes. Just me, the water and the wildlife — and Millie of course. I can’t think of anything nicer.’

  Even as a true townie I could appreciate the sentiment. Once you snuggled inside one of those cabins, closing the chequered curtains on the outside world, you could leave your worries far behind.

  ‘Do you stay here often?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t really get the chance, but it’s a great bolt hole if I need it. We’ve had a few good parties down here too. There’s a really good community spirit among the boat folk.’ I nodded, surprised Rocco was that way inclined. ‘Anyway, feel free to come and stay the night down here if you ever want to get away from the house. It can get a bit heated up there at times.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I smiled before returning to my paperwork. Was that Rocco’s way of apologising for what had happened earlier? Or maybe he’d prefer it if I was down here out of the way, so that he and Pandora could carry on as normal without me cramping their style. Mind you, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about sleeping alone on the boat. True, it was very peaceful, but I’d found sleeping in the house spooky enough. Being alone at night on this floating oasis would probably freak me out completely.

  ‘Shall I make us some coffee while you’re getting ready?’ He was busy unearthing pots and pans from the cupboards and I felt a bit like a spare part.

  ‘Good idea.’ He winked at me and smiled. Just as I was trying to be as professional as possible and with the reminder of Rocco’s recent outburst fresh in my mind, my heart performed a treacherous triple salko and my cheeks flushed a fetching red.

  Rocco set up his gear on the woodblock worktops while Dave and Paul discussed the lighting and tried out different positions for the camera. When they were satisfied that everything was ready, filming began.

  For a chef, Rocco made an excellent television presenter. He was a natural in front of the camera, and his passion for his subject showed clearly through the lens. I’d noticed earlier that when he spoke to you it was as if all his attention was focused on you and you alone, as if you were the most important person in his stratosphere and that intensity— his integrity— shone through on film.

  Thankfully, I had a good excuse for just standing there, gazing in admiration as Rocco showed his adoring public what to do with a basketful of mushrooms. It was my job after all. Occasionally I ran my pencil down the checklist on my clipboard, but I couldn’t believe I was being paid for this. Honestly, I felt like pinching myself.

  “These mushrooms have been picked fresh this morning in some woods not far from here.” He held them up to the camera as if he was showing off precious jewels. “But I’m not suggesting you go out and pick your own. All these lovely varieties are available in our supermarkets now. Forget those bland button mushrooms your mum used.” He laughed, his eyes flashing over in my direction. “Instead pick up some morels, chanterelles or porcinis. They all have their own intricate flavours, rich, nutty and woody, but most of all they’re fantastically versatile. Delicious too. Put them in a sauce to serve with some pasta or throw them into a risotto. The list of things you can do with them is endless. But today what I’m going to show you is something very simple. Wild mushrooms on toast.”

  His voice, without any noticeable trace of accent, was deep and warm, and he had a way of making the names of those mushrooms roll off his tongue as if he was reciting a love sonnet.

  He didn’t have a script, just some hastily scribbled notes, but the words flowed effortlessly, as if he’d been rehearsing all night.

  As he threw some olive oil and garlic into the pan on his stove, his eyes flashed with that passion he was so well known for. I wondered if the rest of the female population would be hanging on to his every word, like I was now, salivating at the sound of his earthy culinary suggestions.

  I shook my head, took a sip of the coffee that had grown cold in the cup and tried to concentrate on the job in hand. It wasn’t easy, not with those heady smells filling the small cabin, reminding me again that I’d missed breakfast. I was beginning to make a habit of it and my poor tummy was crying out to be fed. I hoped its gurgling would be drowned out by the sounds coming from the kitchen.

  “This makes a fantastic quick meal. Delicious and nutritious. What could be better?” He spoke straight into the camera lens, as he pushed his finished dish of wild mushrooms on lightly toasted brioche to one side and beckoned me to try it. I wondered if, after all, he’d heard my stomach grumbling noisily in the background.

  ‘Breakfast,’ he said to me, off camera, as he turned his attentions to his next recipe, an interesting sounding cep soup.

  It would have been rude to turn it down so I pulled up a stool just opposite to where Rocco was doing his bit and tucked into the meal he’d prepared. For a moment, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I mean, really, did it get any better than this? Breakfast prepared by a top Michelin-starred chef. Some people pay hundreds of pounds for the privilege and here was I enjoying the pleasure, in the company of the great man himself on a floating oasis. Oh, and did I mention how heart-meltingly gorgeous he was? Yes, I’d really landed on my feet with this job, I thought, as my tongue licked the remains of the creamy mushroom sauce from my lips.

  Chapter 7

  That’s not to say there weren’t any hiccups during those first weeks. There were a few, like the one with the puff pastry that refused to puff. Fortunately, neither I nor Paul or Dave felt the full wrath of Rocco’s temper on that front although the recalcitrant pastry didn’t fare so well. It was dumped unceremoniously in the bin.

  ‘Anyone with any sense would buy a packet,’ he said, echoing my own feelings and wondering if, at last, Rocco and I could be bonding on the culinary front.

  ‘Should I run to the shops and get some?’

  He glared at me as if I’d suggested murdering my own mother.

  ‘This is a cookery programme we’re producing here, Beth, not a bloody kids’ jamboree. How will I teach the nation to cook if I can’t show them how to knock up some pastry? I’ll do it again.’

  Once we’d got over that small issue, and then the one about the missing side of venison, as well as the close shave with a mandolin that left Rocco dripping blood for half a morning, not to mention the constant interruption of Rocco’s throbbing mobile, everything went pretty much as it should have done. I fielded most of Rocco’s telephone calls. Journalists wanting to arrange interviews, clients wanting to see if he could persuade his maître d' in L
ondon to magically conjure up a table in the overbooked restaurant (even I knew that was an impossibility) and Pandora checking in at what seemed like ten minute intervals. I lost count of the number of times her name flashed up on the display, but I was under strict instructions.

  ‘I haven’t got time to speak to her. Don’t even bother answering it.’

  ‘But Rocco . . .’ I protested more than once.

  ‘If it’s urgent she can leave a message. I’ll catch up with her later.’

  In a relatively short space of time I’d come to feel sorry for Pandora. As far as Rocco was concerned she was needy and anxious and from what I could see he treated her with utter disregard. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but they didn’t seem to me to be the actions of a man headlong in love.

  At first, remembering how she’d treated me during our first meeting, pushing the reject button every time her name popped up on Rocco’s phone gave me a quiet sense of satisfaction. Ungracious, I know, but a little warm glow filled my stomach. Now though, I was left wondering why he couldn’t just be straight with her. If he didn’t have the time or the desire to behave civilly towards her, then he should say so to her face. I hated all that game playing.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ Rocco asked me later, when filming had finished for the day and we were tidying up the cabin. I’d been on washing up duty for most of the day, working behind Rocco, clearing what space I could in the tiny galley kitchen. ‘We’re going to pop into The Anchor for a quickie.’ I swear his eyes twinkled suggestively. ‘But if you’d prefer to get back to the house?’

  It was true what I’d heard. The man was an outrageous flirt. As far as he was concerned any woman was fair game. As long as I retained my professional business persona then everything would be fine. Just fine.

  ‘No, a drink sounds great.’ I was parched and the thought of sitting down with a chilled glass of wine was lovely. I folded the damp tea towel neatly over the range and faced Rocco with a smile.